


Boards Without Switches

by cilceon



Series: Lying Eyes and Honest Hands [12]
Category: Fallout - Fandom, Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Mild Gore, Past Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:07:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29742648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cilceon/pseuds/cilceon
Summary: "Honestly, the Railroad's not fully united on how we feel about them. Everyone wants to liberate the Gen 3s,” he moved his raised hand to the right, “They’re the human looking ones. Some synths in the Railroad, like Glory, she’s the one with giant ass mini gun, think we should help earlier models, too.”Charlie cut in, “But aren’t… Gen 1s are basically the same as, well, a protectron?”Deacon’s hand went back down with a soft pat against his leg. “Exactly, so the line gets muddy. Do we defend AI rights? Terminals? Hell, turrets? ” He shook his head, “The upshot is Glory and some others won't run missions like this.”“Missions to get a prototype that does what exactly?”He let out an exaggerated sigh in reply, “So I'll be straight with you, although you're not going to like it – I have no idea what the prototype does.” Deacon was animated with his hand gestures as they walked, maybe he was nervous. “Us Railroad agents are treated like mushrooms; kept in the dark and fed… well, you get the idea.”(Its a retelling of the quest Tradecraft, which is the closest thing we get to Deacon's own personal quest but then again I guess the whole RR line is his)
Relationships: Deacon/Female Sole Survivor, Deacon/Sole Survivor (Fallout)
Series: Lying Eyes and Honest Hands [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992751
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	Boards Without Switches

_“The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are._

_You trade in your reality for a role. You trade in your sense for an act._

_You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask._

_There can't be any large-scale revolution until there's a personal revolution, on an individual level._

_It's got to happen inside first.”  
_

_\- Jim Morrison -_

Dogmeat was running lazy circles around the legs of a waddling brahmin, heavy with the load it was carrying while Charlie herself, looked down the destroyed road in front of them.

The pair had hitched a ride with a caravan on its way from bunker Hill to sanctuary with two perspective management into the gravel to Preston to join the militia – I plead her friend make sure to say yes to. The fact that they were heading to him with a note from her backing up that they could hold their own notwithstanding.

She had spent the last day and a half with these two young men. Wow they were greener than any plant she had seen recently – they were dedicated, searching for a good cause to stand behind. She could think of no better than the Minutemen.

Charlie looked up at the mangled freeway overpass to her side, she should be close to where she needed to be outside Lexington.

She addressed the group as she stopped walking. “Alight everybody, this is where Dogmeat and I leave you.”

The caravan runner let out a grumble but didn’t say anything as he waved over his shoulder, continuing on his way to the newly founded town.

“Are ya sure General?” Malcom, the shorter of the soon to be minutemen asked. “There’s nothing out here.” He gestured to the brush around them.

His taller counterpart, Andre, gave him a whack on the arm. “Don’t question her man.”

She smiled, “No, no its alright.” Dogmeat took a seat beside her. She didn’t like being held in such a high regard. “Got a little job to work out here, don’t worry you two.”

“Yes’m.” They said in unison.

“Now go on,” She gestured to the caravan nearing the horizon. “Don’t get left behind now, give General Garvey my love.”

They both turned, before giving her a quick final thanks and running off to join the brahmin.

Charlie smiled again, shaking her head as Malcom shoved Andre in a playful manner upon reaching the caravan runner. They were good kids, growing into fine young men. The Minutemen would be glad to have them.

She stood in that spot for a moment longer, watching the group disappear in the distance, absentmindedly flipping through her pip-boy.

Charlie glanced down at Dogmeat when they were out of sight. “Okay boy, find me a shifty looking man in sunglasses.”

The German shepherd left out a boof _,_ then walked in a slow circle around her – smelling the air.

She didn’t need anything from the man for her hound to find him. Dogmeat was a smart dog, he knew why they were there. Maybe radiation had made dogs scary intelligent, she didn’t know.

Her companion gave another boof before deciding on a direction and trotting off into it.

“Lead the way boy.” Charlie adjusted the 10mm pistol at her side, the weight of it still foreign to her. She hated it and was constantly on the hunt for something lighter – something quieter. Her ears weren’t used to the loudness of each shot. She wasn’t sure they would ever be. Tinnitus was a problem; one she didn’t want to deal with.

Dogmeat let out a howl of success a few yards away from her.

There was a farmhand kneeling in front of her dog, scratching behind his ear. “Deacon?” She called out as she approached the man.

“Like the disguise? It's wastelander camo.” He glanced up at her from his place. Deacon fawned a caricature as he stood, “This is my pile of garbage, asshole. Back off.” He patted Dogmeat on the head. “Good, right?”

Charlie raised an eyebrow, “Without him, I probably would’ve passed you by.” The only indication that he was anything but a farmer was the suppressed riffle slung over his shoulder.

Deacon shot a finger gun at her with a click from his mouth, “That's the point. See, you gotta remember that a disguise is more than a wig and some lice-ridden clothes.” With a role of his shoulder, he continued. “You'd be surprised how far I've gotten with the right attitude and a clipboard. A face change thrown in once in a while doesn’t hurt either.”

“A face change?” She echoed.

“Mhm, put myself under the knife every year or two. New face, new body – you know, the full makeover. It keeps our enemies guessing.” Deacon talked as if a major surgery was a haircut. “So, about the job.” He clasped his hands, "The Railroad's only recently been using the Old North Church.”

His slight shift in posture that followed would have gone unnoticed to someone who hadn’t studied body language in a past life. Charlie guessed that degree wasn’t worthless after all.

Deacon seemed wistful in his words before turning to a restrained sadness. “Our old base was underneath a Slocum's Joe. We had a pretty sweet setup until the Institute found us.”

They began walking towards the crumbled overpass. “Your old base was under a doughnut shop?”

He shrugged, “It's a lot cooler than it sounds. Well, it was until it was blown to hell…” His voice shifted to sober, “Our HQ was strong, _defensible_. Hell, we thought it was secure. Inside a minute the Institute troopers breached the doors and turned it into a shooting gallery.”

“Shit,” Charlie wanted to reach out and set a hand on his shoulder in comfort but got the feeling that was overstepping her place. She didn’t know this man. “That sounds really, really bad. I’m so sor–”

“It was a disaster with a capital D. The survivors didn't have time to grab anything. So,” he sighed, “We're getting something important we had to leave behind.”

“What exactly are we looking for?”

“I'll tell you when we get inside.” Deacon paused before adding, “I know that's a bum deal, but strategic ignorance has saved our organization more times than I can count.” Was he trying to soften the blow of denying her curiosity? It seemed that way.

Charlie sighed, mildly annoyed and gestured to the surrounding underbrush, “Let's find our super-secret treasure then.”

Deacon smiled wily at her, “We got to do one thing first” He moved with a point up to the freeway above them. “We got a tourist nearby. He, or she, has intel on the base. The two of us–”

Dogmeat nudged his leg, interrupting him.

“Ah sorry pal,” Deacon corrected sheepishly, “The _three_ of us are going to pump him for information before we dive in. So, for now, I'll take point on our escapade.”

Dogmeat hadn’t been this friendly around someone he didn’t know before, it left a taste in her mouth Charlie couldn’t quite place. “If the Institute's still there, this could be really dangerous.”

Deacon nodded in agreement. “We'll take it slow… Dip our feet into the water. And if the water's full of bullets we'll back out and try something different. Ah here we are.” He rasped his knuckles against a rusted road sign as they begin the climb the slope of fallen overpass. “Right here is what we in the business call a railsign, this particular one means that our tourist friend is nearby.”

“That’s clever.” She watched as he smeared the chalk, removing the railsign.

“If you like that, we got signs and countersigns, dead drops, and even a secret handshake.” He stopped when he noticed the smirk of ‘ _mhm sure whatever you say’_ on her face. “Alright, maybe the handshake never caught on. But we do have six main railsigns. All of ‘em symbols we use to send messages to each other. I’ll teach them to you later.”

“Sounds fancy,” Charlie looked over the landscape around them, wind whistling through her hair. She spoke without thinking, “I forget how pretty the sunset can be.”

“Sunrises and sunsets are beautiful regardless if anyone pays to look at them.” He sounded like he was quoting someone. “The arrow in the center indicates a direction.” He wiped the chalk away as they passed it as he had done with the previous.

They walked for a minute, moving past a school bus, on the back of the side mirror was a chalk cross with lines shooting out from six points.

“Ooo here’s another one. See the plus in the center? That means there's an ally nearby. Our tourist, I’m guessing their up ahead.” Again, he removed the sign.

They walked on, stopping when a scruffy looking man was seen peering through a sniper’s scope towards the old coffee shop back on the ground. “Okay, so you take point on the conversation. Say ‘mine’s in the shop’ to the first question he asks you.”

She put her hands on her hips, looking at him expectantly. “Why am I saying that?”

“Trust me.” Deacon held his hands out to the side with a grin, refusing to offer any more information.

Charlie shot him a cautious glare. “Dogmeat, hold.”

_“Woof.”_

She stepped towards the man. Clearing her throat on noticing he didn’t hear her approaching.

“Oh, thank god.” The man’s nervousness quickly shifted to an intense irritation, “Do you have a geiger counter? Do you have a goddamn geiger counter?” He swung his gun in her direction.

Charlie raised her hands slightly at the motion, glasses guy better not get her killed right now, “Mine’s in the shop.” It felt odd lying like that when there was a counter built into her pip-boy.

“Who the hell is he? HQ said they were sending one agent. Not two.” He moved the gun towards Deacon and Dogmeat – who let out a low growl. Her jaw twitched with though of her dog getting hurt.

Charlie didn’t take her eyes of the gun. She moved her shoulders back, straightening her posture.

“Sorry. I'm new. She's just ah showing me the ropes.” Deacon called from behind her… why was his voice shaking?

“The Wall is my witness,” The man brought her attention back to him, “I thought I was dead. It's about goddamn time ya’ headquarters bastards got here!”

She gestured to the area between the two of them, looking the tourist in the eye ask she spoke, “It's all right we're here now. You're safe.”

His anger flared, tone teetering on comical, “You think I'm goddamn safe? I signed on for some light recon. That lil’ Slocum's Joe of y’all’s crawling with god-damned chrome-dome synth sons of bitches. Gah! The front's done been fortified to hell ‘n back. They've placed mines all over the goddamn place.” His face grew redder with each syllable.

“They have a minefield?” She crossed her arms over her chest, head cocked to the side.

He threw his arms into the air animatedly, “Yeah! The mother of all minefields. I couldn't draw you a map if I tried.”

Charlie nodded, thinking, “Have you seen anything else? The tiniest detail could save a whole lot of lives.”

His face slowly left the semblance of a ripened tomato. “Well… er the chrome-domes have been going in ‘n out for days. They keep takin’ things out. Crates ‘n the like. Only activity I saw was at Slocum's Joes. But I wasn't watchin’ every damned nook ‘n cranny out there.”

“I appreciate all you've done.” She gave a slight bow, impulse from her mother she supposed. “Really, we all do. You’re saving a lot of good people with your work.”

He seemed to muster some sincerity, “I hope it helps. I really do… ugh, as soon as its safe, I'm getting the hell out of here. So, if y’all need anything else, better ask soon.” He gave a final nod before turning back to the doughnut shop.

Charlie walked back towards her companion and Deacon. She let out a soft clicking sound, signaling Dogmeat to follow. Deacon trailed behind.

As they made their return to the ground, he spoke up. “Well, isn't Ricky just a ray of sunshine. You think he's telling the truth?”

Oh, so the angry tomato man had a name? More importantly, Deacon knew that name. “Speaking of truth. Why did you lie to Ricky like that?”

“My job in the Railroad is all about intel. That job's easier if no one knows who I am.” He seemed unaffected as she called out his act. “So, I lied. I do that. You handled the talky talk, and I got to watch from the side-lines. Go team us.” He made a slight cheering gesture.

She rolled her eyes, “So why wouldn’t _he_ be telling the truth?”

Deacon shrugged, stepping over a rusted hubcap, “People always got reasons to lie. The Institute could've turned him. Or more likely – he's just seriously pissed off at us. Take your pick.”

Charlie bent over, scratching Dogmeat’s chin as they reached the underbrush and burrs of the dirt. “Hm, he doesn't strike me as the dishonest type… just pissed and scared.”

“That's my read, too. First rule in this business is never go against your gut.” Deacon started walking, “Alrighty, so if we take him at his word then the front door has mines, synths, and probably other fun and exciting prizes.” He wiggled his fingers, “So, we go in through the escape tunnel.”

“The donut shop has an escape tunnel?” She let out a small yelp as she tripped over an unseen rock protruding from the ground. Charlie would have face planted into the ground if Dogmeat didn’t brace her side.

Deacon spared her a glance as they continued, “Oh what? Doesn't everyone have an escape tunnel? Seriously, though, thank god for that tunnel. If it weren't for that…there wouldn't be any Railroad left.” He shook his head slowly, whipping away an unspoken thought.

She pursed her lips now walking side by side with him, “The tunnel has got to be easier than a frontal assault.”

Deacon wagged a finger before gesturing to their left, “Easier, but no cakewalk. You lead us there, pal, I got you covered. The back entrance is a drainpipe. It's not too far from here.”

Charlie nodded, stepping forward. Dogmeat between herself and Deacon – watching him for her.

He continued, filling the hush of their steps, “Ya’ know the Institute wasn't content with just creating synth people. Oh no no, they have synth birds, too. You see those little raven bastards on powerlines now and again – they could be Watchers. Reporting everything back to the mother ship. Or wherever the Institute's hiding. So always smile for the pretty birdies.”

She rolled her eyes, “You sound like you’re telling a ghost story.”

They skidded down a slope to dried brush and vines hiding a grate covered pipe, just a few inches taller than Deacon.

“In we go.” He muttered, it seemed like to was more for his benefit than hers.

“Dogmeat, you stay here okay boy? I don’t want you getting hurt.” She looked the mutt with a soft smile.

He responded with what could only be described as a grumble. Despite his protest, he laid on the floor of the tunnel, arms folding underneath himself.

Deacon kicked the grate obstructing their way to the side and ducked into it, Charlie not far behind him.

About twenty feet down the tunnel Deacon exhaled. “The back entrance is safer but be ready for Gen 1s and 2s. Not sure if you’ve seen them yet but they’re the early versions of the organically made synths.” He trailed off as they continued, speaking again after a minute of silence. “Alright, divulging time it. We're retrieving a prototype developed by our good Doctor Carrington.”

“You guys have a doctor?” She wanted to ask how many people they had down under the church and was about to before he kept talking.

“Ah, all goes well, you'll meet him soon enough… oh man its dark down here.”

“Yeah, well old mysterious pipes leading to old mysterious places don’t often come with their own lights. Hold on, I got a light in my pip-boy.” She flipped the switch on the side of her wrist, bringing a soft glow to the tunnel. “Hope it’s okay that I’m keeping the light low. Element of surprise and all that.” With each one of her steps the light of her screen swung back and forth.

Deacon looked over his shoulder down to the tiny computer, “Well, aren’t you fancy. Gonna have to cut it out when we get to the opening though.”

“Of course, give me some credit buddy.” She jeered, did this guy take her for an idiot?

He made a soft humming sound before circling back, “The synths didn't start off as nigh perfect copies of human beings, you know. The Institute had to work up to that level of hubris.” Deacon tossed a hand in the air, “Gen 1s and 2s were steppingstones along the way… Honestly, the Railroad's not fully united on how we feel about them. Everyone wants to liberate the Gen 3s,” he moved his raised hand to the right, “They’re the human looking ones. Some of the synths in the Railroad, like Glory, she’s the one with giant ass mini gun, think we should help earlier models, too.”

Charlie cut in, “But aren’t… Gen 1s are basically the same as, well, a protectron?”

Deacon’s hand went back down with a soft pat against his leg. “Exactly, so the line gets muddy. Do we defend AI rights? Terminals? Hell, turrets? Any time it gets brought up: _pah!_ fireworks. All the old arguments flare up.” He shook his head, “The upshot is Glory and some others won't run missions like this.”

“Missions to get a prototype that does what exactly?” She prodded, hopping to get more information about their death run.

He let out an exaggerated sigh in reply, “So I'll be straight with you, although you're not going to like it – I have no idea what the prototype does.” Deacon was animated with his hand gestures as they walked, maybe he was nervous. “Us Railroad agents are treated like mushrooms; kept in the dark and fed… well, you get the idea.”

They reached a hatch that had been jarred open, it looked like it was kicked in from the other side. Her stomach dropped and she turned her light out.

Deacon wiggled through the hole, speaking as he did so. “Okay first step is to override the security lockdown.”

When she got into the room with him, Charlie found herself in a small dirt-lined chamber with a locked security door in from of her and Deacon to the side already tapping away at a terminal.

“Well, at least this bad boy is up and running.” He muttered, “I'm going to feed it some passwords and see what happens, sit tight.” He waved over his shoulder. Was he going to keep walking her through everything he was doing?

Charlie wasn’t sure why she thought it was endearing. She quickly tossed it to the side switching it for empathy.

When she was a lawyer, many of her clients walked her through their trauma so she could help them. This was the first time she physically would go through the event with someone. 

“No… nope…” Deacon muttered between her thoughts.

It suddenly dawned on her what he must be going through. He had mentioned survivors – there was probably bodies still inside. His friends and co-workers. This place, whatever it was, was once his home.

What could she do to comfort this person she met three days prior? Charlie new absolutely nothing about him. He had to be feeling absolutely horrible.

Tears threatened to fall from her eyes, but she stopped them. She had no right to be the one grieving. She opened her mouth to speak, to offer some resemblance of condolences but he spoke before she could.

“…Nada… aha, missed one, Tinker you cocky bastard. Alrighty, the prototype’s deeper inside.” The door in front of her clicked open then Deacon pushed it open further with his foot, riffle drawn. His shoulder’s stiffened.

In front of them, slumped against a bloodstained wall, was what was left of a young man – a symbol scrawled next to his ashen fist.

“Danger. Yeah, we know, you poor dead bastard, we know.” Deacon pointing to the railsign as they walked around the corpse, he looked barely twenty. His voice was steady – almost emotionless, “Damnit Roger.”

He made a tisking sound, tapping a blown turret, “Why don’t you keep that gun of yours down, let me handle anything up ahead. One shot from you’ll echo through the whole compound.”

“Saves my hearing, so fine by me.” She glanced back at Roger before adding, “Unless you get into too much trouble that is.”

Deacon looked over his shoulder at her, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Despite the glasses she could tell it didn’t reach his eyes.

The pair walked down a large pipe ridden slope to its bottom. They were greeted by a bullet hole ridden skeleton of a Gen 2 synth. “Glory’s work,” he gestured before looking down the hallway to another body. “Wait. See the box in the center of that railsign – that means there's a cache nearby. Looks like Maven managed to hide something before… well, you know.” His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow.

Deacon peaked around the back of a chunk of pipe, grabbing out two stimpacks, one half used. He tossed the full one to Charlie as they continued down the winding stone hallway.

When they reached the opening, they were welcomed by a mangled corpse and several turrets lined over a catwalk that overlooked a large, waterlogged catacomb. His voice turned grievous, reliving the tragedy. “Tinker and Ms. Boom managed to turn on the defenses. Barely slowed the Coursers down, but hey, it probably saved some lives.”

He held up a hand, stopping her from moving forwards. “We got company.” Deacon knelt down, looking down his riffle. “Only two though, not a problem.” He took the shots in quick succession; his gun was no louder than a snap of someone’s fingers.

Though she couldn’t see the targets, Charlie heard them crumble to the ground. 

He stood, hitched his head to the side noting to her to follow once again. “I don't think you've ever seen a Courser but they're top-of-the-line in Institute ‘let's fuck up your day’ tech. There _shouldn't_ be any in here, but if there are just- run.”

There were four decommissioned synths in a heap in the knee-high water, along with another body. “Sly Nicolas was a good shot, looks like he got the other two.” Two of the robots had single holes in their foreheads, the other pair had them scattered haphazardly. The man looked like his neck was snapped, Charlie found her hand moving to her throat in sympathy.

Two more busted turrets, another body. This one had his arm ripped out of his socket, causing it to contort in an excruciating angle. “Francis O’Neil.” Deacon’s hands tightened slightly around his rifle. “Man could make the best damn stakes you could ever have.”

They rounded the corner to be greeted by the bright glare of a work light propped against a wall. Charlie raised her hand to shield her eyes, but Deacon was unaffected, sunglasses protecting him.

“There should be another active terminal. We – Mr. Mathers didn't have time to trip the defenses up ahead. Power them up and we can give our friends a little surprise.” He seemed happy for this bit of luck, almost looking forward to Charlie springing a trap.

“Sure, got it. Make sure I don’t get shot.” She made quick work of the terminal’s password. It was probably only there as a precaution anyways. The command lines for the turrets were altered slightly in comparison to the ones Charlie had seen before but she recognized what she needed to. “I’m doing more than just waking them up.” She felt the need to explain why she was taking so long, “Going to edit their code so they fire faster than they normally would. They’ll have more of a chance of doing damage this way. Most of the turrets we’ve past look like they were tagged out before they even got halfway through their ammo.” 

Around the corner the sound of a turret chucking to life echoed. They swift _beep beep_ of it finding a target followed. Deacon seemed impressed, “If we make it out of here alive, I guarantee you're Railroad material.”

He spoke over another voice, robotic and cold. _“Hello?”_

Charlie snapped her head towards Deacon who responded by tilting his own to the side in question before nodding in understanding. “It’s a Gen 2 or 1, they like to be creepy like that.”

The turret fired in swift succession and were met with what Charlie would describe as a laser. Though it sounded more clinical than that of Preston’s laser musket. There was a crashing sound, followed by silence. Charlie and Deacon looked at each other, the humming of the turret signaled its victory.

Charlie smiled and held her hand out to him, he looked at her palm facing for a beat before realizing what she was doing. He returned her grin and they high fived before continuing down past the carnage the turret wrought.

They went through another large pipe, a faint glowing red light further down it. “Those pre-war types really liked their tunnels huh?” Deacon glanced at her behind his glasses, as if he were searching for a particular answer from her.

Charlie suddenly got the eerie feeling he knew more about her than she thought he did.

She pushed the suggestion to the side. There was no way he knew she was from before. Piper’s paper wasn’t set to publish yet. Preston and the others hadn’t been far from Sanctuary since her meeting them. She was being paranoid. “I wonder if there was a company that just made secret passages in tetanus filled pipes?”

“Oh, they probably made a fortune.”

On the other side of the tunnel they reached a hallway with a windowed wall and door blocking their way. Charlie couldn’t get a clear look inside; the glass was too dirty. She could only see faint movement through the other side.

Deacon took a deep breath beside her, and she was reminded of what he lost. This was a recent trauma for this man. She was amazing with how well he was handling all of this. “Ahh, the Switchboard. A lot of… memories here.”

He looked the through the window in the same fashion she had. “Those Gen 1s are in standard patrol mode. They don't know we're here.” His voice turned sly – planning something. “There's the command terminal over there. You hold tight. I'm going to have some fun.”

He moved to the computer and began to enact whatever scheme he cooked up while she wiped the glass in an attempt to look through. All of the grime seemed to be on the other side. Now that she was really looking at it, it wasn’t dirt coving the glass but ash and soot from the synth’s lasers. The darkest blotches were blood.

Deacon let out a small chuckle as he finished his task. A tesla coil charged somewhere on the other side of the wall. Several synths called out to the sound and promptly tried to shoot at the trap.

It sounded like maybe five synths firing at the coil. Deacon made a show of counting the sound of each synth falling on his fingers. When the lasers stopped firing, he returned to the terminal, then shut the tesla coil off.

“Bye, bye, Gen 1s.” He sounded pleased with himself as he drove the door open slowly, peeking through it.

Satisfied with the state of the synths, he opened it all the way, then gestured to the hall. “Prepare to be shocked,” Deacon moved to the side to let her enter. “Not every Slocum's Joe has a massive tunnel complex underneath it.” He seemed to be savoring this big reveal. “We're entering a secret Defense Intelligence Agency research lab. A place that never officially existed. It's called The Switchboard.” The bunker had old American flags on the walls around them. The two largest below a set of windows that overlooked the foyer. “The DIA eggheads spent their precious brain cells here trying to outwit the Red Menace.”

Several desks with scattered stacks of charred papers that spilled over to the floor were in the center of the room. Below them was a large rug with a military seal embroidered into it.

Charlie gasped as they moved through the room, clutching the fabric of her shirt over her heart.

The body of a girl was laying in the center of the rug, in a dried pool of her own blood. Her hair was in a smooth French braid, like it was done moments before her death. Minutes before their home was destroyed. “She looks so young.”

“Songbird just turned 16.” Deacon was looking through some of the papers on the desk, before moving to open one of the drawers. “That mind could have put Tinker on his ass.” He was looking anywhere but to the body in the center of the rug. “There’s a fusion generator over in the other room, wanna see if you can pry the core out of it? You can sell them for a pretty penny.”

He needed space, “Sure, I’ll wiggle it out of there. Be right back.” She didn’t look to him as she wandered into the side room, trying to give him a semblance of privacy. Moving around a haphazardly thrown office chair as she did so.

The room was small, once transformed into a makeshift bedroom of sorts. Mattresses were laid out between the generators, blankets and pillows strewn about.

She knelt on the mattress in front of the fusion core an began to pry it out, falling backwards with the movement of finally freeing it. As Charlie leaned backwards, she saw a teddy bear in the corner of the room. She stared at it for a moment, blinking away a tear.

With a shaking breath she stood, these were real people that were slaughtered here. People fighting for a cause they felt so passionately about they were willing to die for it. They made really good stakes, had a teddy bear. These people were a family, this bunker a home. Now they were dead, this place a tome.

Deacon was leaning against one of the desks with his arms folded over his chest, looking up at the ceiling light when she came back. “I didn't think I'd ever see this place again.” His sounded awed in spite of himself.

“Deacon, do you need a moment?” She asked, tentatively walking up to his side.

He ignored her, “The prototype is locked up in the heart of the facility.” He pushed off the desk and grabbed his gun from the top of it, moving towards the stairs leading to the upper office. “It’s this way.”

With a nod, she followed.

In the office they were greeted with a flipped over chair in the center of the room. Deacon shook his head at before setting it back up right across from a couch and a coffee table that had a half-drunk bottle of nuka-cola on it that dubbed as a paperweight. “Desdemona’s always a stickler for a clean workspace. She’d lose it if she saw the place in such a state.” He didn’t spare the room another glance before opening the metal door into the corridors leading to where they needed to go.

He made a small _oop_ sound before halting, “Don’t remember these bad boys being functional.” With a gesture to the laser wire mounted to the wall at about the height of an ankle. “Watch your step.” He tiptoed over them as Charlie followed. “Do you know how to disarm them?”

She shook her head before realizing he couldn’t see her movement, “Nope. I’m assuming you gotta get the fiber optics out, but I’m not sure how to go about doing that without losing a finger.”

“It’s a fun little dance, I’ll show you later.” He moved to turn down the corridor towards the direction labelled ‘ _Department Databank_ ’ but stopped. Shoulders going tense.

He flashed two of his fingers at his side, signing to her the number of synths ahead of them. She watched him take a steading breath while looking down the barrel of his gun, firing a single shot after a few seconds. Two thuds followed.

Deacon continued into the room and as she entered she saw why he only fired one shot. Deacon had waited until one synth crossed paths with the other, then sent a single bullet through both their heads. Oh, this man was terrifying.

“Damn, hate to think about how scary of a shot you are without a sunglass lens between you and your gun’s sight.”

“Actually, I’m a worse shot without them.” He brushed off her compliment as they pressed on.

“ _Is someone present?”_ The synth in the hallway spotted them the moment they rounded the corner. Deacon’s gun was lowered while the synth’s was raised. Charlie didn’t think in her next movement she just – moved.

She slid the magazine out of her gun and dropped it onto the floor, in the same motion she cocked her arm back before flinging her 10mm into the synth’s hand, knocking the laser gun out of it with the force of the impact.

In that time, Deacon had lifted his gun and fired, sending a bullet into the synth’s chest. It fell to the floor in a short-circuiting spasm.

As the synth laid there dying and Charlie picked up her gun clip, Deacon looked over to her. His mouth was opened slightly in confusion of what had just happened, smiling. She imagined he blinked a few times.

She walked past him and picked up the gun, returning the clip to it. “What? You said not to shoot. You didn’t say anything about throwing.”

He lifted a finger as if to interject, mouth still hanging open, but a voice cut in.

_“An enemy may be utilizing stealth.”_

Deacon shook his head then pulled out an EMP grenade out of his jacket pocket, approaching the double doors with an unknow number of synths on the other side. He flipped the small switch of the explosive, cracked the door open, then tossed it into the room.

 _“How interesting.”_ One of the bots called out, it was promptly followed by a sharp ringing then the clattering of the synths to the concrete floor below them.

Deacon shrugged and after a beat of stillness opened the door into what looked like the remains of a mad scientist’s workshop. It reminded her father. Old workbenches and tables were flipped on their sides in an attempt to fight of the synths upon arrival. Their tops stained black.

Against the wall was what Charlie could only describe as a bank vault, laser marks peppered the front of it.

Deacon sighed letting his shoulders drop, “Thank god, someone managed to close the security door in time. Carrington's prototype is in there.”

He walked up to the vault, digging his hand into another pocket then pulled out a hollo tape. “Hey buddy do me a favor and stick this in your fancy wristwatch.”

Charlie opened the tape deck of her pop-boy and gently removed the most important thing she owned from it, replacing it with the new tape.

She brushed her thumb over the ink smudged handwriting of its label ‘for the love of my life, my best friend” as a stranger’s voice climbed out of her arm. “ _Carrington. Stanley. Salus aegroti suprema lex._ ”

“Open says me – or well Carrington.” Deacon muttered.

The door responding by clicking its giant rods across the side, groaning open. As it did so Charlie retuned the hollo tape to Deacon and put hers back into its place. She wasn’t sure if he saw what was written in her tape, feeling protective over it.

The door crept open; the smell of smoke clawed its way to them. They turned to look into the vault where there was a blacked mess of burned scraps of wooden crates. Anything that was paper was reduced to nothing in thanks to the remains of a man slumped against the wall. A slender gun in one hand and a lighter in the other. An emptied bottle of turpentine had been thrown to the side of him.

Deacon sucked in a breath at the sight of the body, like he had been punched in the chest. “So, Tommy Whispers didn't make it out. He died protecting our secrets.” His voice was low – bitter almost.

Charlie walked in beside him. “Looks like he started a fire.”

He nodded grimly, “There were a lot of sensitive documents in here. Johnny burned them all, then probably asphyxiated… hell of a way to go.”

He knelt over the body of his friend, pulling the gun from his rigor mortis turned hand. “Little grim given the situation but here you are.” Deacon turned back to her. Emotions unreadable. “Tommy would want you to have his hand cannon. Don't let its size fool you.” He sounded solemn, but he couldn’t avoid cracking a joke – though his heart wasn’t in it. It sounded like an inside joke between him and the dead man on the floor.

“I shouldn't take it.”

He took her hand and set the gun her palm then spoke firmly with a friendliness she didn’t expect. “Welp too late. It's yours. Our best agents carry special ordinance made by Tinker Tom. He's… well, you'll know when you meet him. Call this gun a vote of confidence. It's cutting edge, Old World tech. It's powerful and more importantly – quiet.”

“Almost feels like Christmas.” Charlie looked down at the gun in her hand, the weight felt comfortable to her. The suppressor on the muzzle promising shelter for her ears.

“May it serve you as well – heck, better than it did Tommy. You'll never find another weapon like it. Promise. He gave her a slight nudge with his elbow looking to the shelves across the room. “Grab Carrington's prototype. You turn that over to Desdemona and she'll have to let you into our merry band.”

He wants her to be the one taking the super important life risking thing back to Desdemona herself? She picked up the metal, soot coated box, it resembled one of the early models of a stealth-boy her father would bring home from work and mess around with instead of joining her for dinner.

“Was all of that worth it?” She asked, wrapping the box in the flannel she had tucked away in her bag before zipping it back up.

Deacon walked back into the other room as he answered, voice echoing of the walls, “Wanna know a dirty little secret? I don’t know.” He held his hands up in a shrug of an apology, “The Railroad works like that sometimes. I just hope we didn't go through all of that to liberate the doctor's new coffee maker. All I know is that Dez authorized the op and we go to run it.”

She nodded looking around the room. They lost so much. She hated the thought of seeing what their new base was in comparison to this jackpot. “We made a good team.”

“The best.” A nod in agreement, “I got a few things to handle down here so you head back to HQ the way we came in and I’ll meet you there. Tell the pooch he did a good job on guard duty.”

From the way he flexed his hand in the tiniest fraction of a movement, the ‘few things’ were going to be painful for him. Deacon was probably going to burn all the bodies and anything else the Institute hadn’t destroyed yet.

She wanted to ask if he was sure, but this had turned into a personal matter for the man. Maybe if they were closer she could stay by his side – but not at this point.

“I’ll give him an ear scratch just for you.” Her hand tightened around the gun as she turned and walked away. Calling out, “Stay safe” as she did so.

“Always do…” Maybe she already had tinnitus setting in, because she could have sworn, he said Wanderer at the end of his response.

**Author's Note:**

> This one was a little more difficult to write since it was before Deacon & Wanderer had such a strong relationship so I hope it read well!


End file.
